


The Way To A Man's Heart...

by welseykels



Series: Dragon Age: Emmalee Trevelyan [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen x Inquisition Kitchen Hand, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welseykels/pseuds/welseykels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen Rutherford never expected to find love in the Inquisition, until one of the cooks from Haven’s Tavern visits him one night. An Alternate Universe for Inquisitor Emmalee Trevelyan, if she had become an apostate and joined the Inquisition not as the Herald of Andraste, but as a kitchen hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way To A Man's Heart...

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out my writing masterpage on tumblr!](https://welseykels.tumblr.com/writing)

“Commander Cullen?”

He nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard the soft voice call to him from the doorway of his cabin in Haven.  He’d been so taken in with reports of the Herald’s activities in the Hinterlands that he hadn’t even noticed the door opening or the person who’d entered.  

There, a small covered tray in her hands, stood a woman.  

He’d seen her before, but he’d never properly looked.  He recognized her as one of the young ladies who worked in the tavern’s kitchen.  He couldn’t help but take her in now as she stood uncertain - neither entering nor leaving, the jet curls that fell loose around her face, the rest pulled back with a simple strand of leather, the grey of her eyes, the small dusting of flour that ran over one of her freckled cheeks.  _He couldn’t deny that the thought that she was pretty ran briefly through his mind._

When she called his name again, he realized he hadn’t yet spoken in response.

“Yes?”

She bit her lower lip, before taking a small step inside.  “I noticed you weren’t in the tavern for supper, and well, I’d wondered if you’d had any food… or if you ever stop working for some, that is.”

All he did was look at her, any words coming into his mind dying in his throat. No one but Cassandra had even noticed he’d been skipping meals, time slipping away from him as he attended to his duties for the Inquisition and his withdrawal.  When he didn’t speak after a few moments, she covered her mouth with a small hand, hiding the small gap between her front teeth that he’d been just admiring, as a flush rose to her cheeks.

“I’ve offended, haven’t I?  Maker, this seems silly now.  Of course, the Commander of the Inquisition doesn’t need me mother henning him.  I’m sorry… I… I’ll just go.”

He watched as her skirts swirled around her calves as she turned to go.  He didn’t want her to go, at least not yet, his stomach protesting as much as his mind.  “Wait.”

She stopped, turning back as a smile began to spread across her lips at his tone.  She came farther into the room, settling the tray in front of him on the table.  He could hear his stomach roll as the smell settled in the room, and he prayed that she didn’t hear it.  

“It seems I was right in bringing something then, Ser.”  She couldn’t hide the giggle as she confirmed that she had indeed heard.

When she took the cover off, he could feel his mouth watering.  Maker, he shouldn’t have gotten so caught up in his work, should have joined his recruits and his fellow advisors.

“It’s well… it’s only a simple stew… but it fills a hungry belly.  And it’s hot.”

He smiled up at her, “Thank you.  I… I appreciate this.”

She glanced away from him to her toes as she spoke, suddenly shy once more.  “It’s no trouble.  Really.”  A small pause.  “I should be heading back though, Flissa might need a hand with the crowd tonight.  Lots of celebration, what with the Herald returning with mounts from Master Dennett.  Lots of sore feet’ll be happy about that.”

When she made to go, leaving him with a plate of hot food and a feeling in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time, his smile faltered.  “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name, my lady.”

She gave him a small smile, one that made his own lips turn up once more at the corners.  “ _My lady_.”  It was a breathless whisper that repeated his words and then a hearty laugh at the title, a laugh he found he wouldn’t mind hearing again.  “Maybe, Ser, if I might be so bold, you can learn it tomorrow at supper in the tavern.”

And then she was gone.

* * *

Maker, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her smile, about her laugh… about her. And he didn’t even know her name. At least not yet.

He’d been tempted to ask around, but the excitement of hearing it from her lips spurned any action. It was the simple thought that she’d taken the moment to worry about his needs that drew his thoughts to her constantly as he tried to focus on his work.  It had been a long time since that had happened, not since… he shook off the thought.  There was no use thinking about Kinloch now, not when he was trying to put some parts of his past behind him.  Not when he didn’t deserve such kindness.

And so, as soon as the dinner bells had rung, he found himself outside his cabin and on his way down the path towards the bright and noisy tavern.   She’d had her back to him when he entered until he saw Flissa’s elbow nudge at her, dark curls bouncing as she turned in his direction.  A lopsided smile greeted him, as he saw her skilled fingers hurry to finish plating another meal.  

He’d felt a flutter in his gut as she approached where he’d chosen to sit, and this time he knew it wasn’t because of any hunger for food.

“I believe you deserve an answer to your question, Ser, now that you’re here.”

He couldn’t fight the smile that curved his lips.  “I believe I do.”

“Emma, well Emmalee, but most everyone calls me Emma.”

He repeated the word, tasting the syllables on his tongue.  “Does that come with a surname?”

She grinned as she set the plate in front of him. Rabbit this night, the plate framed with fresh vegetables, but he found he could barely pull his gaze from her. “What say you, that each night you come here your supper, you can ask me something else?”

He cocked a brow, “I’m to be trained to remember meals and given rewards then?”

The shy look from the night before returned, “I hardly think knowledge of my life is a reward.  Just that your belly might be thankful for your apparent sense of curiosity, Ser.”

“Cullen.”  And when she only looked confused. “Call me Cullen.”  

She smiled at that.  And then heat rose to her cheeks when he’d quietly admitted that seeing her was more than enough reward for him.

And so he’d dutifully returned to the tavern each night, learning bit by bit this woman who’d been only a few short steps down the path for the past few weeks.  Her family name was Trevelyan, those very Trevelyans he’d heard snatches about during his time in Kirkwall. She was a Marcher, but he’d known from her careful words - he knew she knew of his history as a Templar - that she’d barely seen any of her homeland, not until she was fleeing it to join her fellow mages at Redcliffe.  Until she’d felt that she had more to give, and made the journey with a few others to Haven. While not experienced in healing or fighting, she knew food, having spent some of her happiest times in the kitchens of her circle.  And so she’d joined the Inquisition, having learned from someone long ago, that there was nothing quite like a full belly to lift a soldier’s spirits.

Cullen’s headaches had kept him from seeing her one night, and he’d worried that it would break the brief friendship that had begun to blossom between them.  But when he’d arrived the next night, he’d caught the relief in her eyes as she gave him the same smile she did each time he entered through the tavern’s door.  Maybe she needed a friend just as much as he did.

He was going to see her again tomorrow again, nothing would keep him away. With a knowing look,  Flissa had told him it would be her night off, although she’d be there at the tavern just the same, enjoying her own hard-earned meal.

And his question that night would be to ask if he could join her at her table for the evening.


End file.
